


a kiss with a fist is better than none

by adrina_stark



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, In which Bellamy has a massive pottymouth, Tumblr Prompt, and is basically the grumpycat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrina_stark/pseuds/adrina_stark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy staggers into the training grounds, allowing himself to mope in his utter exhaustion while he still can. Before he has to stand tall with ‘yes, sirs’ and ‘no, sirs’ and pretend he really wants to be at extra training rather than in his bed sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a kiss with a fist is better than none

Bellamy staggers into the training grounds, allowing himself to mope in his utter exhaustion while he still can. Before he has to stand tall with ‘yes, sirs’ and ‘no, sirs’ and pretend he really wants to be at extra training rather than in his bed sleeping.

 

Cold wind pushes past the empty buildings and the sky is bleak, not helping at all with Bellamy’s mood as he approaches the coffee table. Especially when he sees that he spent enough time unwilling to get out of bed this morning that all the good donuts are gone.

 

“You snooze, you lose, Blake,” Miller says next to him, a mouth full of donut.

 

“Shut up, Miller,” Bellamy grumbles and holds out his hand expectantly.

 

Miller waits a moment, sighs around his donut before dropping the one hidden behind his back into Bellamy’s hand.

 

“You owe me partner,” Miller says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I nearly got in a fight over that.”

 

“Isn’t that what we’re here for anyway?” Bellamy mutters around his donut.

 

“We’re supposed to be breaking up fights, Blake, not starting them. Come on,” he says, clapping Bellamy on the back and causing him to starting coughing on donut, unrepentant and unaffected by his glare, Miller continues, “Let’s get this over with.” 

 

* * *

 

Bellamy does his best to pay attention as their training for the day is explained. He hears the words ‘teams of two’ and ‘arresting a resisting suspect’ before he gives up and figures he’ll just ask Miller later.

 

There have apparently been cameras set up throughout the training grounds for their instructors to watch and critique their form but this is of very little interest to Bellamy who is not allowed to watch everyone else’s turn.

 

“That’s probably a good thing, Blake,” Monroe teases, “Then you’d know that you and Miller here never have a chance of being as good as me or Harper.”

 

Bellamy rolls his eyes and gives the braided woman a slight push – that admittedly, barely does anything, she knows how to hold her ground, “Fuck off, Monroe, it’s too early for this shit.”

 

Harper snorts from her seat on the ground, “Poor Blake, can’t function before the afternoon.”

 

“Hey, I’ve got a younger sister, remember?” He protests, “I’ve done enough early morning stuff for my entire lifetime.”

 

Before either Harper or Monroe can respond, retorts obviously on the tips of their tongues, their names are called and they’re swaggering off, ready to prove they are the best.

 

“You realise they do typically get the top training scores?” Miller says from beside him.

 

“I don’t care who wins as long as I can sleep after this,” Bellamy responds sourly.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy feels like he’s aged ten years before his and Miller’s names are finally called.

 

“Right,” the sergeant says, boredom in her tone and demeanour, “You’ve responding to a 911 call about a fight in the warehouse district. The caller was worried that it was becoming deadly and that someone could get seriously injured. Go save the day,” she finishes with a dismissive wave, starting their timer.

 

Bellamy and Miller pull out their guns – filled with paintballs – and begin assessing the alleys, back to back. They hear sounds of a scuffle and signal to each other to move towards it.

 

They turn out between two buildings to find a blonde woman standing over a dark haired one, lying on the ground.

 

Bellamy lines up his target, “Ark PD, freeze!”

 

The blonde runs without turning, disappearing into a narrow alley.

 

“You go after her,” Bellamy calls, “I’ll check on this one.”

 

Miller nods and bounds away without another word as Bellamy crouches next to the prone figure, checking for a pulse.

 

“Dude, that tickles,” a voice laughs, “Stop giving me the tickle torture and go chase after my friend.”

 

Bellamy grins and mock salutes, “Yes, ma’am.”

 

He hears her throaty laugh as he sprints away, listening carefully for movement.

 

“You are under arrest,” he hears Miller grunt out and he rushes over to help his partner.

 

What he doesn’t expect to see is Miller struggling with the blonde, who could best be described as petite and under 5.5. He does his best not to laugh.

 

“You doing alright, Miller?” He asks, as professionally as possible.

 

Going by Miller’s glare, he detects the mocking tone, “Just get over here and help me, this one’s a wildcat even after I had to tackle her.”

 

The suspect in question is currently face down on the ground, arms crossed behind her back.

 

“Just cuff her already,” Miller says with annoyance, “I don’t want to let go in case she runs off again.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bellamy mutters, holstering his gun and pulling his cuffs out. He kneels next to her when Miller must loosen his grip as she manages to turn onto her back, knocking her head into Miller, who reels back.

 

“Hey, now,” Bellamy says, attempting to grab hold of her hands. Her hands are somewhat of a problem as one lands a solid punch on his face.

 

He touches his nose, feeling the blood drip and through the haze of pain, he notices a look of concern of her face before her defiant mask reappears, “You’ll never take me alive,” she calls dramatically before scrambling to her feet, only to be tackled again by Miller.

 

She’s winded enough this time that Miller manages to slip the cuffs on with little fuss, turning to Bellamy mockingly, “You doing alright, Blake?”

 

“Shut up, Miller,” Bellamy says with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the bleeding.

 

* * *

 

The walk back is somewhat humiliating. Their ‘victim’ cheered when she saw the damage her friend had managed to cause and did her best to high five her despite the cuffs. He does his best to avoid Monroe and Harper’s gaze as they report to the sergeant – who tells them quite succinctly, “go away until we need you again” – and finds someplace to wallow in peace.

 

Bellamy’s found a nice place in the shade of a building, out of view of people or so he thought until footsteps come his way. He cracks one eye to see the blonde come his way, wet towel in one hand.

 

“We should clean that up,” she says softly and takes his silence as permission.

 

He watches her as she cleans up his face, noting the crinkle of her brow as she concentrates. Her eyes are cool ard professional but he is well aware of the mischief she can cause. She takes his head in her hands once she’s cleaned the blood away and he does his best not to shiver at her chilly touch.

 

“Your nose doesn’t appear to be broken and you don’t seem to have a concussion. You should be fine.”

 

“You’re not going to apologise for punching me in the face?” He grumbles.

 

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’, “You obviously need the training.”

 

Bellamy frowns at this, but has no counter-argument.

 

“Besides,” the woman laughs, “that was hilarious. Best 50 bucks I ever made.”

 

“Glad someone finds it funny.”

 

“Believe me,” she snickers, “I think a lot of people find it funny.”

 

“I don’t even know your name,” he says stiffly, desperate to change the subject.

 

“It’s Clarke,” she answers, holding out her hand.

 

He takes it reluctantly, his hand enveloping hers, “Bellamy.”

 

“So, Bellamy,” she grins, “I seem to be $50 richer and you seem a bit down on your luck. How about we get a drink?”

 

For a moment, Bellamy thinks he must have suffered some kind of head injury but Clarke’s hand is still cool in his own and her blue eyes are sparkling. He shifts forward slightly, a small smile gracing his features, “I thought you weren’t supposed to drink after suffering a head injury.”

 

She snorts, “You got punched in the face, you do not have a head injury. Besides,” she says smugly, “That’s only for serious head injuries. After all those years of medical school, I at least know that much.”

 

He begins to rub small circles on her hand and she doesn’t seem eager to drop his, “Well, I suppose if it’s doctor’s orders I have no choice.”

 

Her smile widens before she stands and drops his hand, “Good, I’ll meet you at The Dropship at 8. First round’s on me, for punching you in the face.”

 

Bellamy will later blame the fact he must still be dazed for his lack of reply as he watched Clarke sashay away, thinking that a fist to the face may not be the worst thing ever to happen to him.

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt was: I was paid $50 to come pretend to be disorderly for a police training session and I kicked you in the face by accident.
> 
> I have no idea how police training works or basically the proper way to arrest people. In case that wasn't obvious.


End file.
